And in the Morning: Somme 1916: The Caught in Conflict Collection, #6

By John Wilson

New York Public Library Selection
Stellar Book Award honour book
White pine Award honour book

"A compelling, fascinating, and ultimately disturbing book that is not to be missed." East Central Regional Library, Cambridge, MN

It's August, 1914 and Jim Hay thinks war is a glorious adventure. He can barely wait for his turn to fight, but as his father marches off to battle Jim must be content to record his thoughts and dreams in his journal. Amidst the war fever, Jim's home life suddenly becomes tragically complex and, when he does at last join up, it is as much to find a refuge as it is to seek glory. What Jim discovers in the trenches of France is enough to dispel any romantic view of the war. Soon his longing for adventure is replaced by a basic need to survive, and the final tragic outcome, as Kitchener's New Army goes into battle on July 1, 1916, is one he never could have imagined.

"Wilson brilliantly captures the thoughts, feelings, and naivete' of a young man caught up in a conflict he does not fully understand and is ill prepared to face. The format effectively draws readers into the narrative, and characterization is solid throughout. Historical anecdotes lend even more somber realism to the story. Jim's growth as a human being, his increasing self-awareness, and, especially, his shocking fate are not soon forgotten. A compelling, fascinating, and ultimately disturbing book that is not to be missed." Robert Gray, East Central Regional Library, Cambridge, MN

"Although this novel focuses on World War I, it's a timely reflection on the realities of war that presents a powerful, timeless anti-war argument…the diary form lends immediacy and intimacy to the gripping story, which Wilson has based on actual diaries kept by members of the Highland Light Infantry." Connie Fletcher

The Caught in Conflict Collection is an imprint of fast-paced, historically accurate, morally-complex quick reads for Adults and Teens. In each of the titles the main character(s) (a Roman Legionary; a civilian in the Indian Mutiny; volunteers on both sides of the American Civil War; a Scottish soldier in WWI; a holidaymaker in Spain when the civil war breaks out there; and German and Russian soldiers in WWII), become enmeshed in conflicts immensely more complex than they anticipated and are faced with moral dilemmas that they never even imagined. The historical background to each of the dramas is extensively researched and the moral dilemmas are common to all human conflict.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Wilson
• Release date: May 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223087083

John Wilson

John Wilson is an ex-geologist and award-winning author of fifty novels and non-fiction books for adults and teens. His passion for history informs everything he writes, from the recreated journal of an officer on Sir John Franklin's doomed Arctic expedition to young soldiers experiencing the horrors of the First and Second World Wars and a memoir of his own history. John researches and writes in Lantzville on Vancouver Island

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And in the Morning: Somme 1916: The Caught in Conflict Collection book 6. Copyright © 2003, 2014 and 2023 John Wilson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

And in the Morning is a work of historical fiction. Reference to actual places, events and persons are used fictitiously. All other places, events and characters are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual places, events or persons is purely coincidental.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Wilson, John (John Alexander), 1951 -

And in the morning: Somme 1916/John Wilson

Original edition published by KidsCan Press, 2003

Cover design by John Wilson

For more information on the author and his books, visit: http://www.johnwilsonauthor.com

Prologue

My great-grandfather gave me a gift when I turned sixteen, even though he died the year I was born. My father had tucked away the package, and there it was on my birthday, almost hidden amongst all the bigger, brightly-coloured presents. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with old, yellowed string, and it smelled vaguely musty.

It was only later, after all the excitement was over and I was sitting in my room, that I remembered it. I doubted that the grey-haired old man in the family album could give me anything interesting, but I picked at the knotted string, just for something to do. Beneath the wrapping was a diary with ‘PRIVATE’ in black ink on the soft leather cover. The pages were covered in small, neat handwriting; and stuffed between them were letters, newspaper cuttings, documents and one old photograph faded brown, on heavy paper, and about the size of a postcard. In the photograph, a soldier stood very stiffly, staring straight at the camera.

He was wearing a soft cap with some sort of badge on it, a jacket with four large pockets and a kilt.

I put the photo on the shelf above my bed and opened the diary. In the front was a letter that looked fairly recent, written in a wide, shaky hand. It was addressed to me.

Dear Jim,

I hope you are reading this on your sixteenth birthday. You are a baby now and I shall not live to see you much older, but by the time you read this, you will be old enough to understand.

This diary and these letters and cuttings are the story of another Jim. When he started writing, he was your age. You will find wonderful and terrible things in these pages, about Jim and the strange world he lived in. But you will learn about yourself, too. Every family has secrets. Ours is no different. One secret concerns the lad who wrote this diary.

Good luck,

Robert

The mention of secrets intrigued me enough to pick up the book. I still had no intention of reading the diary, but my grandfather was right: the other Jim’s world was wonderful and terrible and, once I entered it, I had trouble leaving.

The Diary

1914

Tuesday, August 4,

It’s going to be war! Germany has invaded Belgium! Unless they stop, we will be at war by tomorrow! It is all anyone can talk about.

Yesterday, Mother, Father and I took the train to the beach at Largs for the Bank Holiday. My friend Iain came too. He lives with his elderly Aunt Sadie, who is a delightful character but has no time for the holiday crowds at the seaside. The beach was crowded—even war cannot prevent a Bank Holiday—and the water superbly cold after our time in the hot sun. The carriage on the train back to Paisley was full of brave soldiers hurrying to report to their depots for service. They were so cheerful and ardent, smoking, laughing and singing songs. With the exception of Tipperary, Mother did not wish us to listen closely to the words! Father was unusually quiet. He is in the reserves, so his call-up papers will arrive any day now. Then he will get his chance.

What an adventure this war is, and so close on the heels of Shackleton’s departure to cross the Great Frozen Antarctic Continent. Shackleton is my hero, but even his noble enterprise cannot compare to this! I am so excited I can barely sit still long enough to write this page—but I must. I promised I would begin a diary this summer, and what better day to begin than this???

Wednesday, August 5

The first naval action of the war! The news-boys were shouting it through the streets. This morning, the destroyer Amphion came upon a German mine-layer, the Konigin Luise, and sank her. It is a small engagement, but it will serve notice that the Royal Navy is about and not to be trifled with. Father’s call-up papers arrived this morning—a policeman brought the telegram first thing. I desperately wanted to be the one to give him the telegram, so I rushed to the door, but Father must have been waiting. He was reading it as I tore around the corner in the hall, and I thought he looked a little sad. But he brightened when he saw me.

Well, young Jimmy, he said, I’m to be a soldier again.

That’s wonderful! I blurted out. I hope the war goes on long enough for me to have a turn.

Yes, he said quietly, but they say it will be over soon. I expect I shall be back to eat Christmas dinner with you and Mother.

I heard a sob and turned in time to see Mother’s back disappearing into the parlour. Father ruffled my hair and followed her, closing the door after him. Why isn’t everyone as happy as I am?

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I listened at the parlour door. I had to?

Why do you want to throw away a good job to be a shilling-a-day soldier? Mother was asking.

First of all, Father replied, "they will hold my job for me. I don’t expect I shall be away for long. The French may even finish off the Germans before I get there.

Second, I have no choice. Look what it says: If I do not present myself at once, I will be ‘liable to be proceeded against.’ Would you rather see me in jail?

I’d rather see you alive in jail than dead on some battlefield.

There was no more talking, just the sound of Mother crying. What’s the matter is with her? Doesn’t she see the Glory of it all? Why must she spoil Father’s departure? I wish I could go. But I am only sixteen (or will be, in a week). Three years before I can join up, and it will all be over by then. It’s so UNFAIR.

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We went to the station this afternoon to see Father off on the Glasgow train. The excitement in the air was almost unbearable. The streets were crowded, even though it is a weekday, and there were flags everywhere. Down the High Street to the Cross was a sea of flat caps and summer bonnets, with occasional parasols standing out like small sailboats. Groups of men stood on every street corner, talking and buying the latest special edition of the Daily Mail to find out what was happening in Belgium.

The train was full of soldiers, clamouring at the windows, saying goodbye and shouting. The atmosphere was so cheerful. It was as if they were setting off on a holiday excursion. How I wish I were going with them!

Mother cried most embarrassingly, and I was afraid she would break down completely. Fortunately, there were other distraught women on the platform, so she did not stand out too much.

Father dried Mother’s tears and said he would be back before she knew it. He took her aside, out of my hearing, and talked to her very seriously and firmly for a few minutes. Mother just nodded and dabbed at her eyes. Then Father spoke to me.

Well, Jimmy, he said, I am leaving you with a lot of responsibility while I am gone.

I felt myself stand up straighter at that.

Mother is going to find the next few weeks difficult, he went on. She is fragile, so I want you to be well behaved and to help her around the house as much as possible. I nodded. And don’t rush to join up.

But I’m too young, I protested.

That may be, Father said, his face tense, but I don’t think that’s stopping many people these days. I do not have a choice, but you do. War is not the big adventure some would have you believe. Only a fool or a fanatic would rush to war. You are not a fool, but this is a fanatical time. Promise me you will think carefully and not do anything rash.

I will.

Father’s face relaxed. I will write you both letters whenever I can, and I want to read in your mother’s letters to me that you have been a big help.

I will be, I said very seriously, but I wish I were going, too.

You’re too young, Father said with a smile, but I can bring you back a souvenir. What would you like?

A German helmet, I said immediately. One of those ones with the spike on top. Father’s smile broadened. See if you can get one with a bullet hole through it.

I’ll see what I can do, he said, but his smile had faded. Then he ruffled my hair, kissed Mother and boarded the train. We watched until the last carriage disappeared, long after Father was out of sight.

Since we have returned home, Mother has shut herself in her room. I heard sobbing through the door when I knocked to see how she was. We had a supper laid out in the cold pantry, so I ate that. I took some cuts of meat in to her, but she has not touched them. I hope she will be better after some sleep.

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Thursday, August 6

Mines are such a cowardly way to wage war. But what can one expect from Germans?

Kitchener of Khartoum has been named Minister of War. He will show the Kaiser what’s what?

The gallant Belgians have won a great victory at Liège. The Huns were shot down in such numbers that the walls of their dead threatened to block the firing of the fort’s great guns. Why are they so stupid? The German army will be stuck before the forts at Liège and Namur until our Expeditionary Force and the French come up and push them back to Berlin where they belong. Father is right. It will all be over very soon.

The Daily Mail has recommended that readers refuse service from German or Austrian waiters in restaurants. It has also printed a map of the continent. I am going to pin mine up on my wall and mark the progress of our armies. On to Berlin!!!!

Mother came out of her room today. She looks tired, and I have seen tears when she thought I was not looking. I have tried to help as much as I can, I brought in the coal yesterday and squeezed the bedsheets through the wringer.

Friday, August 7

I walked around the town for a while today. Not as busy as previously, but still a sense of excitement in the air.

Recruiting posters have appeared everywhere.

The newspapers say that even the socialists are supporting the war. So much for all their pacifist talk. One of them, I forget his name, was shot in Paris for speaking out against the war.

The army has opened a recruiting office in the High Street, and the line-up of men waiting to join stretched all the way down the hill to the Abbey. They are so lucky. I came home feeling very low. Mother says I should be glad that I am too young. She says that war is a horrible thing, and no good ever comes of it. She doesn’t understand. Of course people get hurt in war.

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Some will lose limbs, some will even perish, but that is the excitement. Conquering the foe